


Sand Monster

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-19
Updated: 2004-09-19
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lilah, Wesley and lots of sand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Lying on top of a towel, I gingerly shift the fabric and try to brush away the sand. The worst thing about beaches, I muse, is the sharp sand that gets all over and digs into your skin. Just when you think you’ve brushed away the last of it, even more made its way into your swimsuit.

When they offered me the chance to get away from Wolfram & Hart for a few days, I didn’t hesitate to dump my workload on some poor schlucks, drag Wesley away from his books and get the hell out of there. Vacations are rare commodities these days, especially when I work my dead butt off seventy hours a week fighting the evil I used to be part of.

I stare out to the horizon, where the sea meets the sky and am unimpressed. Compared to Florida, Los Angeles has lousy beaches; no swaying palm trees, fine white sand or deliciously warm waters. But Wesley refused to go to Florida, claiming that we need to stay close to home in case of an emergency.

“Wine?” asks Wesley, interrupting my thoughts and holding out a tacky plastic wineglass. I would’ve brought my crystal ones, but Wesley wouldn’t let me. Like I care if they break, I can always buy more.

I pull myself up, push my sunglasses into my hair and accept the wineglass. A contrast to the cheap cup, the wine tastes exquisite.

“Why couldn’t we have gone to Florida?” I ask him, sipping my wine. “Why did we have to specifically go to this beach? I hate Los Angeles beaches.”

Wesley shrugged. “I already told you they may need us.”

“This is a vacation. That means we can go wherever we want, and it doesn’t matter if they need us.”

“Haven’t we already argued about this?” says Wesley tiredly. “I said I would go shopping with you to make up for it.”

“Yeah, and not only are you getting a new jacket because you’re going to toss your old one, you’re getting a new wardrobe. Now do my back.” I put down the wineglass and hand him the sunscreen. I burn more easily now than I used too. “And don’t get any sand on me,” I say, looking pointedly at his sandy feet, a contrast from my clean manicured toes.

I lie back down on the towel and loosen my bikini top. I’m wearing a black bikini, an eternally classic choice that Wesley loves seeing me wear. He’s wearing a simple pair of shorts and has that just-rolled-out-of-bed look that looks so good on him. We make a very attractive couple.

Wesley squirts sunscreen all over my back and starts to slowly spread it with his fingertips. Not only does he apply the sunscreen, he gives me a great massage.

“Don’t forget the back of my neck,” I tell him, my voice slightly muffled by the towel. He pauses almost imperceptibly, then his hands travel up to my neck and rub in sunscreen, avoiding the black ribbon covering my beheading scar. He managed to secure my head on firmly after finding an adhesive spell, but he still hasn’t found a way to bring me back to life without calling on seriously dark magick powers that he doesn’t want to mess with.

“Done,” he finally says, cleaning his hands on the towel. I roll over, holding my bikini top to my chest and look down. A very large quantity of sand has made its way onto the towel again. I glare at Wesley.

“I didn’t do it,” says Wesley.

“But you’re the only one who could’ve,” I argue. “There isn’t even wind that could have scattered it there.”

Wesley shrugs. “The sand is like a monster with many tentacles. Even when you hack off one, it keeps on growing new one and continues to attack.” He puts his arms around me and starts to retie my top. When he finishes, he keeps his arms around me and pushes me back onto the towel, onto the pile of sand.

“Wes, no!” I wail. But it’s too late; he starts kissing me hard and I’m lost, even though the sand is sticking to my freshly applied sunscreen and will need to be washed off.

A sharp “harrumph!” startles us and Wesley breaks the kiss and slides off me. A little old lady dressed in an old fashioned bathing costume is peering at us and making disapproving sounds.

“There are children here!” she hisses at us. I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to retort- and get a mouthful of sand.

“Who threw that?” the old lady and I simultaneously snap.

Other people have been hit by sand, and our section of the beach is in an uproar. A huge cloud of sand rises and everyone starts coughing. A strong wind starts to blow, creating a miniature tornado. There’s a large shape in the twisting sands and I turn to Wesley- who’s got a piece of paper in his hand and is reading off an incantation.

The shape becomes clearer and the winds start to fade. The beach is silent as the sand monster steps forward- and crumbles into a pile of sand.

A lifeguard shoves her way through the crowd and yells at everyone to disperse. I glare at Wesley. “You knew this was coming! You made us come here so you could take care of some demon! This is our vacation!” I yell at him.

“I’m sorry, Lilah. I was informed of the rising of a sand demon this week. It needed to be taken care of,” apologizes Wesley.

“Do you have anything else you need to take care of?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“Fine. We’re going to Florida for the rest of the week where there had better not be any demons and we’re going shopping there. Any objections?”

I see him opening his mouth to respond, and I toss a handful of sand at his chest.

“But first, we take a shower.”


End file.
